


Biking Back to Sanity

by toewsyourheart



Series: Work Song [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Built-Up Anger, Domestic, Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff, Forever, Frustration, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Post-Game Anger, brief Patrick Sharp, hold me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:06:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3427259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toewsyourheart/pseuds/toewsyourheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the debacle that has been the last two Hawks games. Jonny is heated, and Pat helps him deal in a way that surprises him, and there are a lot of feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biking Back to Sanity

It’s a little after eight when Patrick gets home from Sunday’s game against the Bruins. It had been absolute shit, and instead of going straight home, he agreed to grab dinner and a quick drink with Sharpy. He'd considered inviting Jonny, but then thought better of it when he saw him after his media scrum. “We done here?” Jonny had snapped, and then stormed off, glaring at basically everyone in his path, including Patrick. So instead of asking Jonny a question he already knew the answer to, he just whispered “see you at home,” as Jonny stomped by his locker towards the training room.

Patrick thought about waiting around for Jonny to decide he was ready to go home and sulk there, but he hadn’t seen him look this heated after a loss in a while. He decided it was probably best to give him some time to stop seeing red. Patrick also didn’t want to say no to Sharpy, feeling bad about the tough stretch he’s been having. So he went, trying to be a good friend, but the entire time they were out, he carried a tightness in his chest, worrying about whether or not Jonny would be home when he got there.

Patrick breathes a little easier when he sees Jonny’s car as he pulls in the driveway. He stays put for a moment after he parks, letting the engine idle, and considers what state he’ll find Jonny in when he goes inside… _It’s been a couple hours, maybe he’ll have shaken back by now_. Patrick blows out a disbelieving breath at his own thoughts, because, _yeah, probably not._ Jonny has gotten so much better about leaving his frustrations at the rink and not dwelling on losses until they drive him crazy, but February has been a particularly trying month. Patrick knows they haven’t been _that_ bad, but they’ve lost more than they’ve won at this point, and the last two games have been especially brutal. Patrick saw Jonny’s resolve begin to fray after the Detroit game, and after the horseshit that went down today, he's is bracing himself for the worst, honestly.

Patrick takes a deep breath, shuts off the car, and finally gets out, heaving his bag from the back and heading inside. When he walks into the foyer, he drops his stuff by the door, kicking off his shoes and hanging his keys on the ring. He stills when he notices that Jonny’s keys aren’t where they should be—on the ring next to his—and his shoes aren’t by the door either. _But I know you’re here_ , Patrick thinks, so he’s sure Jonny just stormed in and went straight to the basement. He just listens for a moment. The house is mostly silent except…Patrick can faintly hear what sounds like someone going hard as hell on the stationary bike. _Shit._

Patrick goes upstairs to change out of his suit before going down to survey Jonny’s damage, putting on an old ratty pair of sweats and a Hawks t-shirt with ‘19’ on the back. He knows how Jonny feels about him wearing his number, and he will literally do anything to help Jonny’s mood right now, help make this better for him. So he wears the shirt. He would never admit it out loud to anyone other than Jonny, but he kind of likes it. It makes Patrick feel like _his_.

Patrick wonders if Jonny’s even heard him come in or if he’s too in-the-zone to process anything else outside of his feet on the pedals. He pads down the stairs from their bedroom and makes a pit stop at the fridge to grab a bottle of water before he steels himself and makes his way to the basement, towards the sound of the bike. The door is half-open and when Patrick steps inside, he stops in his tracks as he takes in the sight of Jonny killing himself on that stupid thing. He’s dripping with sweat, his shirt soaking wet, and his face is redder than it was on Friday when Patrick was fucking the Colorado game out of his system. Jonny had pushed him against the door when they’d finally gotten home, crowded in close and said, “Make me forget about it.” And Patrick did his best.

At least Jonny was sort of using his words then—at the UC earlier he was communicating in glares aside from his obligatory chat with the media, and he hasn’t even slowed since Patrick walked in. He never knows exactly what to expect from Jonny when he’s like this, but Patrick feels strange tiptoeing around him, so he just walks over and puts the water down on the table next to him. He retreats towards the stairs and then stops to turn and look at him again. _C’mon, Jonny_ , _snap out of it_ , Patrick thinks, willing Jonny to look at him. He still doesn’t look up, but he slows his pace a bit, and Patrick uses that as an opportunity to say, “Take another twenty minutes to cool down and drink that water. Then I think you’re good here, yeah?”

Jonny nods once, but doesn’t make any other moves to acknowledge him. Patrick trudges back up the stairs, feeling sick to his stomach having actually seen how upset Jonny is. _Nothing to do but wait until he comes up_ , Patrick thinks. He goes to do some dishes, something to keep his hands busy while he waits.

After about twenty- _five_ minutes—because Jonny makes his own rules—Patrick finally hears him coming up and stills his hands in the soapy water, listening to the sound of Jonny dragging his feet on the stairs. He drops the plate from his hands and dries them, turning around just as Jonny appears in the doorway, looking like a man defeated. Patrick's eyes soften and he says, “What can I do, Jon?”

“I—I..” Jonny starts, and then just shrugs his shoulders, running a hand through his wet hair. _Fuck_. Patrick wants nothing more than to go over and put his hands on Jonny—to let him know that he is _here—_ but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to do that yet. “Going to shower,” Jonny says, and he turns to go upstairs. Patrick doesn’t follow.

He finishes up with the dishes, and settles into the couch to watch some TV. Patrick hears Jonny turn the water off after a bit, and he hopes that means Jonny will be down to collect him for bed soon. Sure enough, five minutes later, he hears heavy feet coming down the stairs. The footsteps stop and he hears a strangled, “Pat,” come from behind him. He stands immediately, facing Jonny with only the couch between them, and asks, “What do you need, babe?”

“I’m so tired, Pat,” Jonny says, voice sounding small, and Patrick swallows, a knot rising in his throat. He feels sick again.

“I know. I’m sorry we haven’t been showing up for you…” Patrick trails off.

“Been my fault too,” Jonny replies. He folds his arms around himself and shuffles nervously on his feet, looking from the ground back up to Patrick and then down again.

“Jon…” Patrick starts, meeting his eyes when he finally looks back up. “Tell me what you need,” he says rather than asks this time.

He looks away again, a flash of embarrassment crossing his face, and Patrick’s confused. Jonny’s never been shy about asking him for things in bed, knows Patrick will take care of him, so he’s unsure why Jonny looks so skeptical.

“I—Pat, I just...you,” Jonny says, pained, and walks over quickly to grip the back of Patrick’s neck with both hands and bring their foreheads together.

“I’m here,” Patrick says and reaches forward to grab Jonny’s hips, his fingers digging in hard so Jonny can _feel_ him.

 “Will you just…uh, can we—” Jonny starts again, pausing briefly, like he’s trying to force out words that won’t come. Then he finally asks, so quietly that Patrick almost misses it, “Will you just hold me, Patrick?” and _oh._

Patrick feels like the wind has been knocked out of him—all the air rushing out of his chest, as he pulls Jonny in fiercely, finally getting the permission to touch him that he’s been waiting for since he got home. Patrick understands why he was looking embarrassed now. He knows Jonny’s not good at this—at being vulnerable, at feeling out of control and like he needs Patrick to hold him together. Jonny has always been the one to do that for Patrick—be that solid, steady presence at his side, keeping him grounded. Patrick knows how comforting just being in Jonny’s arms is—how pressing himself in and letting his breathing settle and match Jonnt’s makes him feel complete and whole and good, and he hopes like hell that he can give Jonny some of that now.

“C’mon. Bed,” Patrick says, reluctantly letting him go but trailing his hand down Jonny’s arm to lace their fingers together, and dragging him upstairs. 

He walks them into their room, and Patrick goes straight over to the bed and pauses, letting go of Jonny’s hand to turn around. He pulls his shirt—Jonny’s shirt—over his head, tossing it to the floor, and then reaches forward to ease Jonny out of his too, eyes never leaving his face. He reaches out with one hand to softly run his fingers down Jonny’s cheek, and then he sinks to the bed and grabs Jonny’s hand to pull him down too, his back to Patrick’s front. He loops one arm around his neck, reaching back to cradle Jonny’s face in his hand, scratching his fingers through the still-wet hair at the back of his neck. He wraps his other arm tight around Jonny’s chest, and runs his hand soothingly over his skin.

Jonny remains tense for only a second longer and then collapses into him, taking a deep breath and letting it out shakily. Patrick takes a second to fucking bask in the significance of this moment for them. Sure, he’s cuddled with Jonny before, but never like this. Never really _held_ him—especially not at Jonny’s request, and Patrick never wants to forget a single second of this, aside from Jonny’s pain that led them here. He tries to commit everything to memory, how good it feels to hold Jonny and for this be something he wants—something that he needs.

He puts his hand over Jonny’s heart—still cradling his face in the other—and presses in firmly, rubbing back and forth. He’s trying so hard to convey everything he’s feeling through touch, but it’s just not enough. Unable to stop himself, he says, “Don’t ever need to be afraid to ask me for this, Jon. You’re allowed to need this. I'd hold you like this forever if you wanted.”

Patrick presses a kiss to Jonny’s hair and feels him shiver, which only makes Patrick squeeze him tighter.

“Th—thanks, Peeks,” Jonny says, and then whispers, “Love you.”

“Love you back,” Patrick replies, just as quietly, and Jonny reaches a hand up to tangle his fingers with Patrick’s on his chest, then brings them up to run his lips over the back of Patrick’s hand.

“Forever,” he says, not like a question—like a fact.

“Forever,” Patrick repeats, and he knows it’s true, too.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a gif I would like to have posted here in these notes, but I can't find it, so just believe me when I say that it was A+. 
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes--I tried to catch everything, but it's 4 am, so..plz forgive me.
> 
> Feedback is welcome, and if you've gotten this far, thanks for reading. :)


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